e v a l u t i o n

in the interest of getting a grownup BLOG of my very own and finding interesting people to add to my BLOGroll i've devoted quit a bit of time this afternoon to link jumping.

now, i've always considered myself to be a feminist. (always in the sense of always since i became aware of feminism in college and was no longer under the influence of religious doctrines that said feminism was a sin.) however, i've come across quite a few feminist sites that leave me feeling a little cold. i've found a thread mostly mocking "quiverfull" women, heavy discussion of the positivity of being childfree, statements about "shitting out a pumpkin" in reference to childbirth, and all the man-hating one might expect. is this feminism? do i have to eschew childbirth and men to be a real feminist?

more than the man-hating, which i can understand, it really bothers me to see this thread of hate directed toward birthing and childrearing. to me, these are some of the biggest areas awaiting radical feminist voices. i see so much choice, power, and room for growth here. it is very disheartening to see women rudely speculating on what birthing many children does to a woman's body, actively promoting childfree as the only conscious lifestyle choice. it's so self-loathing, and ultimately as destructive as the patriarchy you're railing against!

since being back "home" i've been able to reconnect with my old friend jq. it's weird to me to realize that it's been 6 years that i've known her now. i mean, there are friends in my life that i've known for much longer periods of time--i'm still in touch with grade school and high school friends--but they're long distance friends now. we don't see each other, we email or talk on the phone once in a blue moon.

jq's in a serious relationship for the first time since i've known her. she and her girlfriend just moved in together, and this is the only person she's lived with, aside from her ex-husband. it feels like we're going through a lot of the same things and its nice to have that camaraderie. to be able to talk about relationship struggles and not feel like you're going to be being judged, or the other person is forming negative opinions about you. we remind each other--it's just life. it's just relationships. times get tough, and then they get better. this is what people go through. we are normal. and i have a baby, now. i have a child, and she has two teenage daughters, and i like to be able to honestly talk about the experience of motherhood, the adjustment to it, the difficulties with it, to feel understood and not judged.

it's been interesting, since becoming pregnant and having a baby, the way i connect with other women. the women i do connect with. the stories i hear, the conversations we have. it's not even that fucking cliche bullshit you get on sitcoms about diapers or feedings or whatever. it's like there is this piece of ourselves that we keep hidden away, and you need some sort of In to get to it, or to let it out. i feel like i know more about my own mother than i ever did before. the stories she tells me about her experiences in childbirth, breastfeeding, there is so much of herself in those. the story may be about being in labor or having a new baby, or a toddler, but through the story i find my mother the person, not just my mother the Mother..., and i find myself wondering, "why didn't i ever know this? was i really disinterested? did she ever try to tell me? and i just didn't listen?"
i begin to think that we're all so self centered that we really only care to validate our own experience, find those people and those interactions that reflect our own lives back. but i wonder if it's more. it's hard to theorize on, because i don't know if it's just me and my weird way of interacting with the world, with people, if it's societal--but there are these parts of myself that i filter, that i segregate and parcel off. two years ago i really began having these intense baby cravings--ye old biological clock, if you will. i took that and i put it away. when i became pregnant two years ago, i took that experience and i put it away. i didn't write about it where my friends could read it. when i had a miscarriage i did the same thing. and not just with my stupid online journal, but with people in my life, too. i didn't tell people, i didn't talk about it. my pregnancy with luna. i didn't really write about it where anyone who knew me could read, and i wonder why that is, why i feel the need to keep certain experiences separate. i wonder if it's just me,or if it's also a reflection of social and cultural norms. we get all these messages about what's appropriate to talk about and what's not. it seems like there are so many messages about how having children, getting married "cuts you off" from those people in your life that aren't and haven't. maybe it's these lingering puritanical world views. certain experiences aren't "appropriate" to talk about. you wait until someone else has it, too, then you can whisper about it together.

why do we cut life experience and section it out like pie? i feel life doesn't move and flow, it doesn't all blend together into one long reaching experience. it's about these big jumps, it's transitions and breaks with the past. always. as we move from one stage of life to the next, we get this message that we no longer are a part of that old way of life, that old time and place, and the people associated with it. really, how many friends do you have who are so different from you? who have radically different lives? and why does who i am have to always shift? can't i just be myself, doing this new thing? feeling this new feeling?

it's so unfortunate that we do this, that i do this and am doing it. it's like this self-perpetuating cycle of aloneness. yeah, i do believe that we can't every fully understand until we've experienced for ourselves, there is an understanding that only comes with personal experience. but does that mean those experiences should be so cut off that we don't even hear about it or think about it until it comes to our own door?

exactly one year ago today, i first suspected i was pregnant. i threw up on my way to work, 6 a.m. on a train bound for grand central. i still have the text message j sent me back when i told him.

life is too hard sometimes, and i don't know why we have this idea that things are supposed to be fair. life is not fair. it's not easy, it's not kind, it's not pleasant. it hurts so bad dying seems like the only thing, yet this innate need for survival buried somewhere keeps you breathing.

i haven't had a haircut in over a year. my hair is to my waist now. i hate it most of the time, but it's easy to just let it be. every time i seriously consider getting it chopped off, i look at my little sister's hair--down past her butt--and i'm quite jealous and decide i want mine just as long.

having a baby is hard. really hard. it's a little terrifying, after, to realize that you will never be able to be alone again. you will always be attached to someone in the world. you will always be needed, till you die. your life will never be yours in the same way again, you will be bound by desperate instinct to your flesh, your offspring. when the baby is sleeping at night, you'll lie awake just to make sure she's breathing. you'll wake randomly, panicked because she's so quiet, sure something is wrong. the worst thing in the world you can imagine is her death. the thought of it is so terrifying that you pray to a god you don't believe in to please keep her safe. everyone says "i never knew i could love anyone so much," but you don't really think that is true. what you feel for this creature isn't love. it's not the love that you've thrown around before. it's not the love you feel for your friends, or family, or lover. it's a deep, intense pain, it's instinct, something so deep it goes beyond emotion. love is a choice. you have no choice in this feeling. biology dictates that you protect your progeny with every part of your being, and you bow to it. you look into her little face and wonder why you ever thought this would be a good idea. then she laughs, and you know it's because she had to be. and then you hate yourself for even hinting at wishing her away.

it's like someone says, life only cares about life. the need to reproduce becomes to overwhelming that you cry with needing it. and after, your body is worn and broken, your life will never be the same, and you are slave to a new human being. nature has her way with you. she only cares to carry on.

Continue reading "life, as such" »